


An Unhappy New Year

by under_a_grey_cloud



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angry Dean Winchester, Dying Castiel, M/M, Sad Castiel, Sad Dean Winchester, Sad Sam, very sad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-02
Updated: 2016-01-02
Packaged: 2018-05-11 02:37:17
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,818
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5610742
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/under_a_grey_cloud/pseuds/under_a_grey_cloud
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>!!!IMPORTANT-----                 -----PLEASE READ THIS SUMMARY!!!</p><p>New Year's Eve is supposed to be a joyful time, welcoming the new year with happiness and peace.</p><p>THIS STORY IS ABOUT A VERY UNHAPPY NEW YEAR</p><p>If this will upset you, please don't read it. I wrote it for myself. I'm posting it for other readers who might be starting the New Year with unhappiness, for whatever reason.</p><p>Even in hard times, I have much to celebrate in the coming year. I may not feel it now, but I know it's true.</p><p>I hope if anyone who is suffering chooses to read this, they will also remember that change is one of the few constants in life, and that this, too, whatever "this" is, shall pass.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Unhappy New Year

**Author's Note:**

> If you skipped the summary, please go back and read it. It's important
> 
> For those who may know me, or for those who may not, please realize this story is about only part of my life.
> 
> =========================  
> And in one little moment it all implodes  
> This isn’t everything you are
> 
> Breathe deeply in the silence  
> No sudden moves  
> This isn’t everything you are
> 
> Just take the hand that’s offered  
> And hold on tight  
> This isn’t everything you are
> 
> There’s joy not far from here, right  
> I know there is  
> This isn’t everything you are  
> \- Snow Patrol

"Goddamn it!" yelled Dean. "This has to be about the fortieth time I've felt a damn pine needle digging into my foot."

"You're wearing socks," Sam pointed out. "Those nice warm _thick_ socks Cas got you for Christmas."

"Well they're obviously not pine-needle proof," Dean said. He sat down on the sofa and took off his sock. He felt it carefully, not missing a single spot. Then he turned the sock inside out. A pine needle was sticking out of the inside of the sock. He would have noticed it on the outside were the sock not so colorful.

"See?" he said to Sam, getting up and shoving the pine needle between his brother's laptop and his nose.

"Ok, ok, so you have pine needles in your socks. They come out. It's not like we need to take you to the hospital for pine needle surgery. Chill."

"You chill when you're walking on tiny pins and needles," said Dean, putting his sock back on. "I never wanted this Christmas tree in the first place," Dean muttered, sinking back into the couch.

"Yeah," said Sam. "What's with that? We've always had a Christmas tree."

"Not with a real angel," Dean muttered.

Sam guffawed. "We never put Castiel on top of the Christmas tree! It would have fallen right over. Unless, I suppose," Sam continued, trying not to laugh, "He flapped his wings in a hovering position."

Dean remained silent.

"I'm sorry for laughing, Dean. I know you're worried. It's just such a funny image," Sam said. He felt another laugh coming on, tried to hold it in, until it came out his nose in a loud burst. Which of course set him off laughing again. When he finally was able to catch his breath, he said "It's just nervous laughter, you know?"

Dean sighed. "I meant we never had a tree with a real angel in the house. The bunker," he corrected himself."

"I know," said Sam. "I'm sorry. It's just that you always love Christmas trees. I even bought you an ornament."

"Really?"

"Yes really. I didn't give it to you because it didn't seem appropriate, what with Cas and all."

"Yeah," said Dean, holding a couch pillow to his chest. "Really I guess that's why I didn't want a tree."

Sam looked quizzical.

"I didn't want to have to throw it out. Throwing out a dead Christmas Tree reminds me of throwing out Cas," Dean explained.

Sam nodded.

Dean kicked an empty beer can from the bottom of the couch. He drummed his fingers on the armrest. He couldn't seem to keep still.

"About that," Dean said. "He seemed fine on Christmas Eve. Drinking egg nog, laughing at dumb videos, the works. I don't get it. You're the smart one. Help me out here. How could he change so suddenly in a week? He barely opened his presents, and even then, only when we reminded him. I mean, we all had hangovers; that's why we got up so late. You think angels get worse hangovers?"

Sam sighed, "Dean, we've been over this so many times. Remember at the bar when he drank just about one of every drink possible? Twenty drinks? Thirty? If that's not a recipe for a hangover, then I don't know what is. Or the time he ate over 100 hamburgers in a row. I don't think angels get full or drunk the same as humans. Maybe because they don't really need to eat and drink, it affects them differently."

"But he was so happy Christmas Eve. And then poof, overnight, he was miserable. And he's been that way ever since," Dean replied.

"I know you said to let him be for a while," Dean continued. "But it's been forever since New Year's. Worst New Year's Day ever. Do you think I should wish him happy New Years? I mean, we haven't seen him for days. Maybe he's given up on us? Maybe he left during the night?"

Sam sighed again. "I don't think he'd leave without saying goodbye. Waiting for him to come out himself isn't working. And peeking at him every half hour to make sure he's still moving is getting pretty old."

"Ok. I'm gonna go talk to him. Now," Dean answered.

____________________________________________________________

Dean hovered by the closed door. "Am I bothering him? Is it fair? What if he wants his peace and quiet" Dean asked himself for what seemed like the millionth time. "OK then. I'm going in."

He knocked on the door, not knowing what to expect.

"Come in," said a frail voice. "Oh shit," thought Dean. "What if he's been really sick all this time and we didn't do anything? Checking at night to see if he's moved isn't a very good diagnostic tool. What if I've been an idiot and he's been dying?"

Dean opened the door just enough to fit through.

Cas looked pretty grim indeed. A small bedside table light was on, casting a gloomy light. The overhead lights were off.

Cas was lying on his side facing the wall. When he turned over, his eyes were red and his skin was very pale. He had huge bags under his eyes, and looked a bit puffy.

"Hello, Dean," came the same scratchy voice as always, only it sounded tired.

Dean pulled a chair up to Cas's bed and straddled it, backwards.

"You're gonna miss New Year's Eve. When everyone drinks champagne and puts on silly party hats and blows noisemakers and watches the ball drop at Time's Square. Whadda ya say, Buddy? Wanna give it a whirl?"

"Not really, Cas answered. "But you two have a great time. Sounds like," he paused as if he couldn't remember what word came next. "Fun," he sad decisively. "Sounds like fun."

"It's not," Dean said. "I mean, nothing's fun for me and Sam, knowing you're hiding out in your bedroom."

"I'm not hiding, Cas replied.

"Well then what the hell have you been doing here all week?"

"Waiting."

"Waiting for what? For us to come in?" Dean asked.

"Waiting for death," said Cas.

"You don't look so great," Dean said, "But you don't look like you're dying. Get up and out of bed. It'll do you good.  


"I can't" said Cas.

"What, you need some help?" Dean asked.

"No. If I get up I'll have to start all over from scratch."

"What are you talking about?" asked Dean, afraid of the answer.

"This isn't the only way, but it's one of the ways an angel can die."

"What, hanging out in bed?" Dean asked, though he noticed Cas was lying on top of a neatly made bed. The rest of the room was sparse, as usual. One of Cas's arms lay on top of the bed, hand open. The other hand was above the covers, too, but it was balled into a first.

"No," said Cas, literal as usual. "We don't have to be lying on a bed. In fact we rarely lie on a bed, unless we're on Earth. Usually we just stop moving, and wait."

Dean was not ready to hear this. His ears took in the words but his brain couldn't process them.

"What's in your hand?" he asked, just to have something else to talk about.

"The little plastic dome you gave me that has a Christmas tree with a silver star on top, and makes snow fall on the tree when you turn it upside down and then back up again." Cas opened his hand to reveal the snow dome. He turned it upside-down and right-side up again for Dean. "See?"

"I know what a snow dome is," Dean croaked in a broken voice.

"It's probably lengthening my wait," Cas said. "We're supposed to lie completely still. I've been limiting myself to one turn a day. But I've already turned it once today, I think," Cas said. "And then I turned it for you just now. I guess that means I won't be able to turn it tomorrow. It's difficult to tell the difference between day and night in a room without windows. "

"It's been seven days," Dean said. "It's New Year's Eve." This time when he spoke, his voice broke completely and turned into a sob.

"Really? It's been that long? It usually doesn't take seven days to die," Cas paused. "That's why I've been lying in this room," Cas said. "I knew it would make you sad to watch me."

"Damn right it makes us sad, watching or not!" Dean shouted, turning his sorrow into a more familiar, more comfortable anger.

"Does dying make you stupid?" Dean yelled in a mean voice. "You didn't think we'd notice that you haven't come out of your room for seven whole days?"

"I'm sorry to have upset you, Dean. Especially you. But as we approach death, our grace turns increasingly inward. I think my feelings for you have kept me tethered to Earth for longer than usual."

"What feelings?" Dean croaked quietly, like a frog falling asleep.

"My love for you, of course," Cas answered. "And a different sort of love for Sam."

"So you decided to die because you love me and Sam? I love you too. I want you to live, dammit. I want you to live and be with us. I want you to live with me till my hair turns white and I need a Goddamn walker to go take a piss!"  


"That's just it, Dean. No, you don't want to grow old while I don't change. You may think you do now, but you don't. It will hurt you very much if I end up having to help you get out of bed without causing too much pain," Cas answered.

In a much quieter tone of voice, Cas almost whispered "It will hurt me more. You'll be in Heaven and happy. I'll have to live with the pain of your loss forever."

"How could I be happy in Heaven without you?" Dean asked, between sobs.

"I'll be there, just a different me," Cas answered,

"I don't want a different you!" Dean shouted, pounding the table with the lamp so hard it flickered. "I want **you** , the real you."

"You won't know it's not the real me," Cas argued.

"So that's Heaven?" Dean asked. "Heaven's based on lies? I'd rather be in Hell. At least it's honest."

"I was afraid you'd say that," replied Cas. "The longer we stay together on earth, the more intense our connection will be. You love me now, but you'll love me so much more if you die of old age, fifty years from now. I will always love you the same, forever."

"You fucking selfish brat!" Dean cried. "You don't want to deal with the pain of your own loss, so you're dying before it gets more painful for you? Lemme clue you in on something. It never gets less painful. Ever. It always hurts. Asshole. You're not a coward. I never expected this of you in a thousand years," Dean yelled, oblivious to the tears continuing to streak his face.

Cas sighed. "This is exactly why I didn't want to tell you. I should have driven somewhere far away, somewhere secret to die."

"And you don't think we'd have found you?"

"I know you would have found me," Cas said.

"Dean, listen to me now. Listen to every word I tell you," With great difficulty, Cas raised his voice. 'This is important. I may not have another chance to tell you. I've been lying to you,"

Dean looked puzzled. "Since we met, or since you holed up here to die."

"I've been lying to you since you opened the door and told me it was New Year's Eve."

Dean started crying so hard he could barely speak. His nose was dripping snot, it was so full. He looked around for a box of tissues, and found none. Of course, idiot, he told himself. Why would an angel need tissues? Dean blew his nose loudly into his sleeve. When that wasn't enough, he unrolled the bottom of the sleeve and blew his nose into it. H snorted a few times, snotty sleeve hanging from his elbow.

"OK. Tell it to me straight now. No lies. I can take it," Dean finally said.

"What I told you was true," Cas said. "Angels sometimes choose to die that way. But that's not what I chose."

Dean wiped his eyes. "You mean you want to stay alive with me?"

"More than anything. But I can't. I'm dying. I'm not choosing to die. If I had a choice, I'd live. But I don't have that choice."

"I, I don't understand," said Dean. "Other than violence, how can an angel die?"

"My grace is leaving me."

"But that's happened before," said Dean quickly, "lots of times before. And you can always borrow more grace until-"

"No," Cas said. "Borrowed grace is very toxic to angels. I only did so because I had to. All the reasons I had to, they all came down to the same thing. You."

"You mean you're dying because of me?" Dean whispered.

"No," Cas replied. "I mean I'm dying because of some of the decisions I made because of you. Some decisions had nothing to do with you. But I've been slowly dying of poisoned grace since I first accepted it from another angel."

"But your own grace," Dean said, grasping at images of straws. "Didn't that heal you?"

"No. Poisoned grace poisons my own grace, too. It makes no difference. As soon as I took that first grace from another angel, I began to die."

"But that was years ago."

"Many human illnesses can take years to die from. Cancer. Diabetes. Drinking too much alcohol, or becoming obese. All these illnesses, whether they seem chosen or not, can kill slowly." Cas stopped for a small cough.

"In fact, death from ingesting too much food or alcohol or drugs is the closest analogy I can think of. Many humans choose to die this way, sacrificing longevity for more immediate pleasures. This is what I did when I first took another's grace. I knew it would kill me eventually. But it would buy me more time. To be with you," Cas said, staring into Dean's streaming eyes.

"I have never regretted my choice and I wouldn't change it if I could."

Cas was interrupted by more loud nose blowing from Dean. He had taken his shirt off by now, and was using it as a huge handkerchief. Dean found a few more dry pieces of fabric and blew.

"It has been an honor and a privilege, Dean, to live with you and to die for you. I have no regrets, other than for you and your sorrow. But humans are surprisingly resilient. You will survive. You will survive without me. You may yet find happiness and peace without me."

Cas had turned the color of the sheets. This much talking had been very painful, and draining. He tried to reach up to dry some of Dean's tears, but he'd forgotten about the snow dome, and it fell.

"Oh no!" he cried with surprising strength. "My snow dome! Did it break?" he asked Dean, as if the universe hinged on the answer.

"No," said Dean, now speaking and crying together. "It's made of plastic. It bounced a few times, but it didn't break. See?"

He turned the snow dome upside down, righted it, and showed Cas.

"See? It's fine," he repeated.

He began to feel disquieted by Cas's silence.

"Cas," he shouted. "Your snow dome is fine."

He looked down at Cas and saw an empty body. He felt no presence of grace. Cas was gone.

"Fuck," Dean said, "Our last moments together were about a fucking snow dome. A Snow Dome!" He threw the thing at the wall, but it rolled back to him in a crazy pattern. Dean looked at the snow dome; it seemed to be indestructible. He held onto it tightly, and got in bed behind Castiel. He put his arm over the body. The angel's body was neither hot nor cold. Very gradually, so gradually he'd miss it if he blinked, the body became less solid. Dean stared at the body of the one he'd loved, watching it slowly fade. After a while it became translucent, then transparent, and at no particular moment, it was gone.

Dean grasped the snow dome to his chest, and fell asleep in a fetal position. He slept for a long time. He slept for what felt like forever, until he was woken by Sam banging on the door shouting "Dean? Cas? You in there? It's morning. Coffee's on."

Sam opened the door slowly, afraid he might be intruding, and eventually saw Dean, red swollen eyes open, cradling something in his hands. The empty space next to Dean bore a very light imprint of a body.

 


End file.
